


the times (they are a changin')

by kitsunesongs



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: EVERYONE - Freeform, F/F, F/M, Genderbending, Literally everyone - Freeform, M/M, Multi, Peggy Sue, Time Travel, bookverse, everyone loves bill, including Basically God and the turtle and pennywise and..., life in small town 50's america
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-21 10:52:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16575056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitsunesongs/pseuds/kitsunesongs
Summary: Turns out you can't, actually, kill the deadlights - so a seventy-year-old Bill, dying of a terminal illness, discovers when he is confronted by the returned It and its destruction of his world. After confronting the shapeshifting menace, he somehow (with the help of the other) manages to travel to a dimension very similar to his except for one small change, that just lost it's Bill analogue in the car accident that gave him his stutter. Now, he just needs to reunite with his friends, protect Georgie and the other kids from being eaten, and find a way to stop that which can't be stopped - all while dealing with the effects of that SMALL change.Who knew a chromosome could make so much difference?Billwise, Polylosers, and some onesided Bowers Gang/Bill. Basically, Everyone/Bill. Yes, EVERYONE - Even the Turtle.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my nanowrimo project for 2018! This is my first ever time doing nanowrimo, and I doubt I'll make the word count - but it should be fun nonetheless. 
> 
> This is a bookverse timetravel - or, well, dimension travel -fic, because I know what I like and I'm going to stick to it, lol. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Bill woke slowly, sleep still drifting around him like cobwebs. The steady beat of the heart monitor had become background noise by now, but it was the only sound in the darkened hospital room. Slowly, Bill lifted one skeletal hand and rubbed at his eyes, clearing the grit from them, as he looked around to see what had woken him.

Bill spent a lot of time sleeping, nowadays. He could tell, both from the feeling in his own body, and from the looks in the nurses and doctor’s eyes when they bustled around him, that he didn’t have long left.

That was alright. He’d lived a life, had Bill Denbrough. And he still got letters from fans of his stories, had even had some journalists come in and interview him in his hospital bed. He’d put his affairs in order, made sure that his money went to charity like he wanted, organized what would happen with his unfinished books and refused a ghost-writer for after his death, though he had allowed his long-time editor to fix up those manuscripts, one last time.

He may not be married to Audra Phillips anymore, but she was still one of his greatest friends, and had blossomed as an editor when she stopped acting. He trusted her to take care of his estate the way he wanted, and make sure his readers weren’t taken advantage of.

He had even, as the time passed, slowly started to remember his childhood - and why he’d forgotten in the first place. If there was anything he wished for, now at the end, it was to see his friends faces and hear their voices – but he knew, if he called them, they would only recognise him as famous author Bill Denbrough, and even if he mentioned that they’d gone to school together, that they had been friends, that one hot summer, they wouldn’t remember, though they might be flattered that he’d think of them at the last.

Well, at least he knew he’d be seeing Eddie and Stan again soon.

The room he was in was big and nicely furnished and had a variety of flowers covering the various surfaces – as well as more letters that he wanted to answer. He was awake now, and might as well use it, so he reached out with one hand that trembled annoyingly and clicked the light switch by his bed.

Nothing.

He frowned and clicked it again, then huffed as the room stayed dark. Now that he thought about it, thought his room was well away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the hospital – a benefit of being rich and famous that he shamelessly abused – he should still have been able to hear the noise outside his door if he listened. The hospital never slept – but all Bill could hear was the sound of the heart monitor.

Bill pressed the call button and waited, and soon enough he heard footsteps in the hall outside his door. Feeling a relief from a tension he hadn’t even noticed until it was gone, Bill settled back in his bed, before frowning to himself. There was something off about those footsteps. They…squished, as though the walker had been standing outside in the rain and come in soaked.

The door creaked open and the small sliver of light came through, blocked by a shadowy figure – a far too small shadowy figure. The small figure stepped forward, each foot falling with the wet slosh of sound – and the lights flickered on dimly.

Every single muscle in Bill’s body froze up as he gazed into the glowing orange eyes of Georgie Denbrough.

“What’s the matter Bill? Aren’t you glad to see me?” Georgie asked sweetly, stepping forward, water still falling off him, one side of his slicker covered in blood. Bill could see the knob of bone from his shoulder peeking out.

The heart monitor went wild.

 “You.”

The tiny, bloodied form of his little brother grinned at him with sharp teeth, and took a step forward, twisting and changing for a sickening moment, before standing in front of him as Beverly, throat cut and blood dripping down her front.

“We killed you.” Bill said, mind screaming.

The not-Beverly sneered at him. He could see her spine through the cut in her throat. “You think you can kill Me? I am eternal! I am the Eater of Worlds!”

“I crushed your heart in my hands.” Bill shot back. She – no, It hissed angrily at him.

“You hurt Me,” It admitted grudgingly. “I commend you on that – no one has ever done it before. But you think just because you killed My form, you killed Me? I am the Deadlights. I exist in the Macroverse, not this petty, small universe. You could not reach Me to kill Me if you tried!”

It took a few more steps forward, and now it was by his bed – but the heart monitor had settled down. Bill wasn’t scared anymore or horrified.

No, Bill was furious.

“All you did,” It continued, “was force Me to remake My form and come back, the same way I arrived.”

The same way it had arrived? Bill remembered the smokehouse, and what Mike and Richie had seen, and was starting to get a sinking feeling in his stomach. As if reading his mind – and hey, for all he knew, it was – It grinned at him as It continued. “Last time,” It said conversationally, “I killed the dinosaurs – well, I caused the environmental changes that resulted in the dinosaurs going extinct, and mammals becoming the dominant lifeform. You’re welcome, little buddy.”

It sat on the side of his bed, reaching over and grabbing his medical chart and skimming it with brightly glowing eyes. Somehow, even though it was dark, Bill knew it could see the writing on his chart just fine. It pursed its lips as it read, seeming upset.

“This time? I decided to take a more active role in things.” It said, putting the chart down.

Bill swallowed dryly. “What are you going to do?”

It laughed, a sharp, wild burst of laughter that sent shivers down Bill’s spine as it leaned in close and grinned even wider. “Going to do? I’m not stupid Bill, do you think I would come here if there was the slightest chance you could stop me? I already did.”

It reached out – and Bill saw that, in its one, rain drenched hand, it held, incongruously, the remote for the television in his room. It clicked the power button, and the tv flickered on.

It took a moment for Bill to register what he was seeing.

The screen showed a bird’s eye view of an ocean, before peeling back and back and revealing something vaguely like an asteroid burning its way through the atmosphere. The asteroid lit up red and orange and white hot and finally crashed in the middle of the ocean, sending tremors and massive plumes of water radiating away from it. The explosion was massive, and Bill almost fancied he could feel the earth shaking as he watched – but it wasn’t the sort of asteroid that had killed the dinosaurs. There was no dust or smoke clogging the sky, to block the sunlight and kill of the plants that relied on it, and the animals that relied on those plants. Just what looked like a hell of an earthquake and a bunch of tsunamis. It was awful, but…

Then the not-an-asteroid shifted and morphed into something that was very definitely not an asteroid. Bill couldn’t describe it. It wasn’t the spider, or any of Its previous forms – it was much larger, and while it didn’t have that element of mind breaking insanity to it that the spider had had, it was just as alien and sanity shattering in its own way – from its sheer size to its numerous limbs.

Horrified, Bill watched with wide eyes as the monstrous creature stretched and began to move. Everywhere it went it dripped the same venomous fluid that the spider made its webs of, but its size meant that it was far worse than anything Bill had seen under the sewers of Derry. The creature travelled, slowly, inexorably, destroying cities with its venom and stepping on mountain and setting off more tsunamis and –

Bill couldn’t breathe.

It hummed happily and clicked the remote, and the tv turned to images of cities, towns, villages – images of fire and death and people running, screaming and crying and burning and dying and _melting_ and –

The screen flickered, again and again, each time showing images of horror, and Bill could hardly take it, one hand coming up to clutch at his chest, clawing at the soft white fabric of his hospital issued pyjamas as he watched airplanes attempt to take out the creature and fail, bombs be dropped and do nothing, death and destruction as a whip of the creatures tail destroyed a row of mountains and sent dust flying up till it covered the sky.

“Turn it off.”

“Hmm?”

“Turn it off!” Bill shouted, gasping for air, and It turned from where it was enjoying the show.

“Why? What’s the point? You can’t make it go away.” It smiled viciously at him, leaning in close and whispering in his ear. “What you’re seeing on the screen? That’s all already happened. You’re the last little buddy.” It shot upright again. “Look on the bright side! Your species won’t go extinct, because you’re not gonna die! You’ll live, and live, and live – forever. Inside my deadlights – inside me. I’ll keep your soul cuddled close, until this universe ends and burns to nothingness and the next starts, and beyond. You’re not gonna die, Billy boy – I’m going to KEEP you.”

It smiled at him hungrily. Bill glared back, glancing back and forth between the dead form of one of his best friends, and the scenes of horror and desolation playing on the tv screen.

“I don’t believe you,” he said firmly.

(Be brave, be brave, stand and be brave and true and he thrusts his fists –)

“I don’t believe you destroyed the world, and I don’t believe you killed my friends – you’re just trying to scare me.”

The smile dropped from Beverly’s bloody face, and the form It was wearing shifted and twisted and changed again, this time settling on the familiar form of the clown, silver suit with orange pompoms and eyes like shiny silver dollars in the stark white face. “You don’t believe me?” It said quietly, before reaching out and grabbing the covers of Bill’s hospital bed and throwing them aside. Without saying anything else, It reached out and scooped Bill’s frail form into its arms, leaving him clinging to the silver suit to keep his balance.

It felt like silk.

“W-What are you –”

 

Bill frowned at the return of his stutter and stopped speaking as the clown carried him from his room.

(he thrusts his fists against the posts —)

The hallway outside looked as though a tornado had gone through it. There were only a few lights working, and they flickered brokenly in the ceiling as though they were about to give up the ghost and join their shattered brethren. The walls were broken in several places, revealing tangled wiring, and fragments of the walls and ceiling were scattered along the floor, making it a hazard to cross. Bill would not have been able to walk along it on his own, not as he was now, but the clown carrying him didn’t have any problems manoeuvring around the destroyed hallway - or, when they came to the rest of the hospital, any trouble making its way through that, either.

There were more signs throughout the hospital of death and destruction - carts overturned and jagged breaks in the walls and floor (which the clown simply jumped over easily - floating, a small part of Bill whispered) and even the occasional blood stain or scorch mark.

But no bodies.

(And still insists—)

It noticed him looking at the bloodstain and grinned at him with sharp teeth. “They were delicious.”

After that, Bill did his best to avoid looking at the destruction around him – but there was nothing else to look at but the clown. Almost against his will, Bill found himself studying that hated face, the bright white makeup and red smile, the orange hair and silver eyes. Idly, Bill wondered if it was actual makeup, if it would get dirty or come off if he rubbed it, or if it was just this particular form’s face, and there would be nothing under the facepaint but orange lights and darkness and teeth.

Probably the latter.

It noticed him looking at it and raised one drawn-on eyebrow at him.

“You make a very ugly c-clown.” Bill said.

Its face twisted, insulted, and It glared at him – but It didn’t hurt him, or drop him, or even change to another, scarier form. Perhaps It sensed the fragility of Bill’s body, the cancer burning him and eating him up from within, and how scraped thin he felt, as if a stiff wind would cause him to shatter into pieces. Perhaps It sensed all that and didn’t want to risk Bill dying before It could do…whatever It was planning.

Put him in the deadlights, apparently.

Bill had seen them, in the space outside the universe, the macroverse, the place where you stepped out of the blue and into the black, and saw that there was nothing there but more black, black on into eternity, the empty, black, darkness of the space between the stars – but he found, now, that he couldn’t quite recall their terror, the feeling of staring at them and having his mind shake apart at the seams just by looking at them. A gift of memory, he supposed, to shroud that trauma in forgetfulness. There was something there, though in that thought, those musings, in the way It looked at him, treated him – in the way It had saved him for last – but the thought rested just out of reach, on the tip of his tongue, and Bill couldn’t quite bring it into crystal clarity.

Not yet.

“I make a fucking _fantastic_ clown, Little Buddy,” It sneered, and Bill was brought rudely back to the present. “I am the perfect mixture of terrifying for those who hate and fear clowns, and funny and comforting for those little kiddies who actually like them.”

Bill stared at It, confused. “Why would you want to be comforting?”

It grinned at him, blood red lips stretching wide, eyes meanly amused, and Bill had the sudden thought that he wasn’t going to like the answer.

“To lure them little fishies to the hook, sometimes - _bait_ is required.” The look on Its face was almost orgasmic, as It licked Its lips as though remembering and savouring some delicious taste.

Bill’s gorge rose in his throat and a rush of cold chilled him, skin prickling with sudden sweat.

He wanted to hit it, to hurt it, to smash that ugly white face in – but the clown continued before he could, smiling even more while staring fixedly at his face. “Kids love clowns, Little Buddy – _Georgie_ certainly did.”

And that was it.

Bill was helpless, fragile, wearing only his pyjamas and unable to walk on his own, carried in the arms of his worst enemy who, if It hadn’t destroyed the world, had at the very least destroyed his hospital – and he did the only thing he could do in that position.

He leaned forward and bit down on the creature’s ear where it was right in front of him. It howled in sudden pain, but Bill ignored it and bit deeper, jaws closing with a click of teeth on teeth as he wrenched his head to the side and tore It’s ear off in a splatter of bright red blood.

It _screamed._

Bill grinned with bloodstained teeth as it turned to him, eyes glowing and teeth full of razor-sharp fangs as it growled at him. “I’m still Bill Denbrough,” he said. “Don’t talk about my little brother.”

For a frozen moment they stayed there, staring at each other – and then the clowns silver eyes stopped glowing and It closed Its lips over Its teeth. When It opened them again they were normal, the truth of them hidden away once more.

Bill was probably just imagining it, but he almost thought those silver eyes looked impressed.

It snorted slightly, and turned to look at Its severed ear, the hole in the side of Its head suddenly growing a long, slippery looking black tendril that connected to the ear, then retracted back into the clown’s head. Bill looked on in reluctant fascination.

Without another word, It turned and carried Bill onwards, passing through the destroyed hospital lobby and towards the shattered ruins that had once been glass sliding doors. The remnants of those doors gave slight hitching sounds and movements, as if detecting a presence and trying to do their job and open, but there was not enough door left to move, and nowhere for them to move to.

The clown passed over the glass shards littering the floor without even a ghost of a whisper and stepped out into the moonless night.

But that wasn’t right. It wasn’t a new moon tonight, was it?

As Bill’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he scanned the sky. It wasn’t just the moon – there were no stars, no clouds, no nothing, just darkness. Dust blocking the atmosphere like It had shown on the tv?

Lowering his eyes, Bill looked at the world in front of him, and saw nothing. Where just a few hours ago there had been a thriving city, with people and cars and buildings and roads and parks and trees and grass – now there was just nothing, a flat expanse as far as his failing eyes could see.

Breath catching in his throat, Bill started looking around more frantically, as the creature holding him chuckled in delight at his evident distress. It leaned forward and nosed at his throat, breathing in deep, before speaking. “There it is,” It said, voice darkly satisfied. “Fear.”

Bill wanted to scream, to rage and fight – but he felt frozen pulse beating in his ears as he continued to look, scanning desperately for any sign of life – but there was nothing, no matter where he looked. Just ashes.

(ashes to ashes dust to dust)

He and the monster holding him were the only living things in the area.

The only living things in the world, if what It was saying, and what It had shown on the tv, were true.

It, it couldn’t be true, it _couldn’t_ be –

The clown plopped down on the ground, setting off a plume of dust around them as It set Bill almost gently on Its lap. Bill let It, almost completely numb, still staring desperately at the endless expanse of nothing around them, praying to see something, anything, the slightest hint of light or life – but there was nothing.

(And what, exactly, was there to pray to? The turtle? He’d seen its shell, its empty shell, and if there was something else, another, like he’d seen in the turtle’s eyes all those years ago – then that other clearly didn’t feel like getting off its ass and doing something _useful_ , did it?)

He looked up at the sky again. “If you blocked off the atmosphere, how am I breathing?”

“Because I want you to be.”

Bill lowered his head and stared at It. “This isn’t real – it can’t be. You can’t be this powerful –”

It interrupted him, seeming almost annoyed, as though he’d insulted It. “I _am._ Did you think Eater of Worlds was just a random title I thought up out of nowhere? This planet is _gone_ now, Little Buddy! All the plants, all the animals, all the humans – I ate them all. I destroyed the seas and shattered the mountains and ate the moon and covered the sky and the sun?”

It laughed suddenly, and Bill resisted the urge to cover his ears as he followed it’s gaze up to the empty sky. “Here Billy-Boy – let me show you what happened to the sun.” It raised a gloved hand and pointed, and before Bill’s wide blue eyes the sky shifted, as though a covering he hadn’t been able to see was being pushed aside by some massive force – and in the break of the darkness, he could see stars – and something else, something big and black and his eyes hurt to look at it and –

Bill found himself breathing faster, air rasping in his throat – but was it even air? Was this even real? Maybe he was dreaming, a nightmare – maybe he’d fallen into a coma. Maybe he’d died, and this was hell.

Because staring down at him from the dust shrouded expanse of sky where the sun should have been, was a massive black hole.

Bill hesitated to open his mouth, because he feared if he did all that would come out was a long, endless scream, and once he started screaming he’d never stop – but he had to know.

“My friends –”

“They’re all dead!” It interrupted cheerfully, taking evident pleasure in Bill’s pain as he flinched back from those words. “Wanna see how? I already gave you a sneak peek.”

A sneak peek? What did it – Bev. Bev, her throat cut, blood staining the front of her dress.

Bill eyes widened in sudden horror, and the clown, who had been watching, grinned as he figured it out.

“They remembered, when I got close enough. Ben tried to face Me alone to give Bev and their daughter time to get away. I tore his guts out. Cut her throat. Then killed the daughter too, just for fun. Wanna hear about Richie and Mike too?”

No. No, no, nonono stop _stop –_

_“Stop it!”_

Bill lashed out, but his illness had weakened him enough that It had no problems simply catching his hand before he could even try to punch it on its mocking, stupid, painted face.

Then the exertion got him, and he bent over, wracking out great heaving coughs that shook his chest and made his throat feel like sandpaper. By the time he’d caught his breath, panting and exhausted and in pain, the dust had covered what was left of the sun again, and It was sitting there watching him, shiny silver eyes strangely flat.

“You’re dying.”

Bill resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “O-obviously,” he muttered. “Gold star.” He frowned to himself at the small stutter.

It continued, ignoring his small aside. “Your body is failing – I need to put you in the deadlights before it goes completely.” Its voice was strangely flat, and despite what It said It simply sat there, Bill on Its lap, staring at him, and Bill felt again the niggling feeling that he was missing something, that there was something important, something in what It had been saying and doing, and that if he could just figure it out…

Before he could, the clown seemed to come alive again, grin stretching across its painted mouth as its eyes started to glow with a sickly orange light. “Don’t be scared little Buddy,” it crooned, reaching out and grabbing Bills chin and forcing his head back so he had to meet those eyes and their awful corpse-light. “Things will be a bit different from what I told you the last two times – you won’t go insane. I won’t let you.”

What?

“I’ll wrap you up in a shield of Me and only let little bits of My Deadlights through – until you can handle them. Until you become like them. Then!” It breathed, painted face almost incandescent with some sick joy. “Then I’ll let more and more in, until you ARE them – but still you. Like Me, only You. Then I’ll show you, Little Buddy, I’ll show you the expanse of the macroverse and all the little universes inside it, and all those yummy galaxies and planets and stars inside those, and we’ll eat and eat and eat and eat and in time you will forget you ever were anything other then what you are. And while that’s happening I’ll eat what’s left of you. I think I’ll start with your heart.”

Bill froze, mind shuddering with renewed horror. What it was describing…no, it couldn’t be, it couldn’t. The eating part, yes, that he expected – but to be changed, to be twisted and turned into a creature like It? No, no it couldn’t. Could it?

“Y-you’re lying, you – y-you can’t do th-th-that you – why would you even wa-wa-want to?!”

Distantly, some part of him noticed that the stutter had come back fully, but he was too busy staring in horror at It to think about that more. It cocked its head and stared at him.

“Why? Because you are _special_ , Little Buddy – and that makes you mine.”

“I’m n-n-not _yuh-yuh-yours!”_ Bill shrieked, eyes so wide you could see a rim of white around his irises.

It growled at him. “You will be. You are. Everything comes from Me, and so everything _belongs_ to Me, and I can do what I want with it, and I want you, Little Buddy, you should be honoured!”

_Honoured!_ That, that – he would kill It, he would _kill_ It if it tried _–_

_“Fine_!” Bill growled out through gritted teeth. _“_ D-D-Do it then you fu-fucking – do it, j-just do it –”

But It still hesitated, and suddenly Bill froze as the thought that had been niggling at him come to crystal clear fullness in his head. He suddenly relaxed and smiled gently at the clown holding him who also froze, in sudden trepidation. It was a sweet, beautiful smile – but it did not meet his eyes.

His eyes were cold blue chips of ice, as he reached out and this time he was the one forcing It to look at him, and then those glowing eyes met his dim blue ones, and the Ritual of Chüd began for the third time.

_– what are You doing? Have you realised the honour I am offering You?_

_Oh, I realised something alright. I realised why you went to the other losers personally, but separately. I realised why you left me for last. I realised why you’ve been so hesitant about starting this. It’s because you’re afraid._

–  _You think you can stop me?_

_It’s not about what I think – its about what you think. I am not afraid of you. But you – you ARE. You’re afraid of me. And you know what?_

_You should be._

Once more, for the third time in his life, Bill was sent rushing out of his body and outward and upward past the desiccated remnants of his world (and as he flew he saw, distantly, that it was just like It had said and shown him – there was nothing left on Earth, no life at all, but the shattered remnants of the hospital that had once housed him and which crumbled to dust before his eyes even as he flew away from it up and up and out towards the great darkness on the edge of his senses.)

_– You’re too old!_

_That’s what you said last time._

_– No no no! Not again not again no no_

_(He thrusts his fists against the posts)_

_Yes again! No NO you can’t you’re too old you’re alone you don’t have the others the circle is broken its just you and you’re old_

_(And still insist he sees the ghosts - ugh I hate that stupid poem I hate it and it didn’t work did it your mother never loved you again she didn’t need to. I had others. I had my friends)_

But this time, he was prepared – this time, he focused all his will, all his might, all his imagination on biting down, biting down hard, as hard as he had in the empty hospital hallway – and he bit Its grey, decaying tongue and heard It shriek. Its voice was high and buzzing and full of insane, inhuman hate and hunger, an endless aching hunger that wanted to consume everything – and something else, something that was similar to the hate and the hunger and even the pain and fear but different at the same time. Something, Bill sensed, that was as alien to It as It was to Bill. Something warm and hungry and zeroed in with hot obsessive intensity on Bill.

Bill dismissed it and focused on biting down as It screamed and started to thrash.

_Am I? Yet I am still Bill Denbrough. I remember, you know – I remembered even before you showed up. You’re right, I’m old – but when you become old, you put away childish things, like the urge to be very grown up._

_I absolutely still believe in Santa Clause, and the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy._

_I believe in hope and love and friendship. I believe that things will be alright, even now, when it seems like there’s no hope. The darkness is brighter just before the dawn. I believe there will be a dawn. I believe the sun will rise, and my friends will come back to life, and the earth, and the turtle too!_

_And I believe that I can beat you._

_Come on then, you miserable excuse for a clown. Let’s finish this._

Things were different, this third and last time – perhaps they would be different each time the Ritual of Chüd happened, because the one certainty of life was that everything changed. The people going into the ritual would be different each time, so the ritual would be – or maybe Bill was completely off base because who knew really? It was like the Turtle had said that first time – cosmological shit.

This time, despite having been thrown out of his body, Bill was not being thrust towards the empty outer darkness and the hungry light that rested in it beyond the universe. This time, he was close enough to the earth that he could still see it, and the warped black hole of the sun, and all the other brilliant lights that made up the sky, and Bill felt that if he wanted, if he concentrated, he could maybe fly up and touch them.

Perhaps it was just that he’d spent so long now, in a body that was slowly failing him, but being like this, being just a soul or a mind or whatever – it felt freeing.

It was screaming again, and a distant part of Bill was aware that the body It had made was jerking on the ground, gloved hands held in clawed fixedness around Bill’s arms – but they weren’t his arms any more. That shell on the ground wasn’t him anymore, and he honestly wouldn’t have been surprised if it had just expired then and there. Either way, he couldn’t be bothered paying attention to it, and unlike the last two times, he wasn’t focused on getting back to his body, so instead he simply bit down harder with part of his mind, and sent the rest outwards – or perhaps in.

He was looking for the Other, the one that, he was sure, had taken on the Turtles role in bringing together the losers after the Turtles death, the one that was to the Turtle and the Spider what they were to Bill, the one who held the deadlights in as some small speck in its eye.

The Spider was shrieking, denial and pain ripping through the space around it like clouds of poisonous gas. It couldn’t understand how this was happening. But somehow, impossibly, it was.

Once more, It was reduced to begging.

_“Stop Stop it hurts it huuuuurrttts I’ll leave I’ll never come back again just STOP!”_

Bill ignored It. He didn’t respond, but he didn’t let go either, and instead – in a way he would not have been able to describe even if asked, he let go of the part of him that was Bill, while also not. He was Bill, he was all Bill – but what was Bill Denbrough? A body, a mind, memories? A stutter, an imagination and fondness and talent for writing? A leader, a brother, a husband, a lover, a son? What was the name Bill itself, but words, letters, syllables – nameless noise given form and shape by the minds of those who heard it over the centuries, making meaning out of nothing – all of that was him, but it was not HIM. And, Bill sensed, if he was going to find the Other and communicate with it somehow, get it to destroy the deadlights properly so this could never happen again, he needed to get rid of those parts that were him, until all that was left was…something. Something nameless, that echoed through who he was now like roots through dirt. Right now, Bill was the dirt – he needed to be the plant, if he wanted to talk to the sun.

_“I’ll go I promise I – I’ll bring them back I’ll bring it all back I’ll return it to how it was – and I’ll fix you too while I’m at it I’ll fix you I’ll make you healthy and young again –”_

_“Will you shut up? I’m trying to concentrate.”_

He probably would not have been able to do it if not for his disease. Over the years since his diagnoses, Bill had become very apt at ignoring his failing body, at thinking of himself as more then that – and while he was biting down on the Spider’s tongue with _something,_ that something was no longer teeth, and looking at the mess of legs and eyes and mouths and teeth and deadly, awful light that was the Spider, Bill felt it grow smaller even as he held onto its writhing, shrieking form – or perhaps he was simply growing bigger.

It was like swimming in the river in summer. That first splash of cool water as you plunged into the depths, the rush of bubbles around you, the feeling of rising and lifting and breaking through the surface to the sun and the air and taking a deep breath – except the water was the universe, and the air was not air, and the sun was on the surface but it was not the sun it was a person who was the sun and the air and the water as well, and Bill felt humbled before the gaze of what he could only perceive of as God. The Turtle had been large, and kind, and good, and old beyond comprehension, but this being was beyond all that.

Suddenly, Bill was not floating among the stars, holding the Spider in his teeth. Instead, he was 11 years old again, in mud splattered jean and dirty sneaker and a red flannel shirt over a striped t-shirt and standing in the sunlight of the barrens. The being before him (Some part of him felt as though he was looking at his mother, or his father, or both of them together) was eyeing him patiently.

“Hi,” Bill said awkwardly, scuffing his sneaker along the grass. The being before him smiled at him without lips or a mouth or, for that matter, a body. He couldn’t look at it to directly, as it was like looking at the sun, but as he peered down with flushed cheeks at his feet, what felt like a hand reached out and brushed his hair off his forehead as it greeted him back. It was amused, and interested, and very impressed and proud of him for what he had managed to do here – and before, when he was thirty-eight, and before THAT, when he was eleven. It had chosen him and his friends, and it had chosen well.

Bill leaned into the non-existent touch. “You chose – you’re the reason we found each other? Thank you. I wish we could have remembered each other, stayed together, but…”

Things changed, the Other confirmed. It was strange, this not talking, like what the Other – Gan – was meaning to convey was simply deposited fully formed in Bill’s mind.

Wait, Gan?

“You have a name?”

Of course, the Other did, and it was Gan, and Gan was very pleased to meet Bill, who had done a very good job.

Bill blushed even brighter, resisting the urge to squirm and demur, and the equally strong urge to hug the figure before him. It felt as if his parents had looked at him and smiled and asked how he was for the first time in years.

But he couldn’t rest. “The Spider, It – I had It, but, just the Spider part not the lights, and it wasn’t enough last time –”

The spider had been taken care of, Gan interrupted gently, soothing him. Gan had wanted it, and so it had been. Suddenly, Bill was lying on the soft grass lying next to where Gan was sitting with his head in its lap as its…something, not fingers but close enough, ran through his hair soothingly. It was very odd. It was not as if he had been standing, and then moved to lying down, so much as they had been standing, and then they were sitting, and the space and time and movements in-between had simply been…removed, because they weren’t important. Bill blinked a moment at also finding himself suddenly lying down but shrugged it off. He trusted the Other, Gan, as he trusted his friends, and as he had once trusted his parents.

He should probably be a bit warier, but the grass was soft beneath him and the sun was warm above him and he was small and safe and happy, and Gan was stroking his hair and he felt so loved for the first time in…ages.

Maybe since he’d sent Georgie out to play in the rain.

The thought of Georgie sent a spark of pain through him, and Bill opened his eyes and looked up at the glowing, indescribable features of the being whose lap he was resting on. “My brother, my friends, my world – can you…?”

Bill felt a sense of sorrow suffuse him and knew the answer. He lowered his head and closed his eyes to hide them getting wet. Things were the way they were, he felt Gan communicate to him. Gan could change it – but it would tear at things that were not meant to be teared, break things that were not meant to be broken. In the end, it would be worse then if it hadn’t been changed. Bill couldn’t – wouldn’t – sacrifice the universe for a little bit more time with his loved ones.

“I see,” he said softly, mournfully, tilting his head back to look up at Gan. “And the Spider? You said you took care of it, but…are you going to kill It? Properly, I mean, since I can’t.”

Gan felt saddened, at the thought. Bill kind of understood. The Spider was a monster, a vicious, spiteful, hungry creature that enjoyed hurting and killing innocent people – but it was still created by Gan, just like the Turtle. He supposed the two were kind of like Gan’s children, in a way, and just because the Spider was evil, didn’t mean Gan didn’t love it.

Gan agreed with everything Bill was thinking, slightly pleased at how well he had understood. With the Turtle gone, Gan would be alone if the Spider died too.

So that was a no?

Not exactly. It was not dead, but It would not be able to make Itself another body, or leave the macroverse.

Bill resisted the urge to snort. “Did – did you _ground_ It?”

That…was not actually a bad understanding of the situation.

Bill snickered, and Gan sent a flicker of amusement to him like a beam of sunshine

The next part that came through was a bit more complicated, and Bill could only just make out the edges of it. It felt like the Spider and the Turtle had been created as…lynchpins? Creation and Consumption. Life and Death. With them both gone from this universe, the Turtle to Death and the Spider from being barred from entering, this universe would fade, like several others had – and there it got too busy and Bill found himself fighting a headache.

Gan was apologetic. It was very hard to get across some of these things to a being like Bill.

“It’s alright,” Bill said. “I think I get it – its like alternate dimensions, right? I mean, I was always more horror then sci-fi, but I dabbled a little, and I loved Star Trek and Star Wars.”

Yes. Bill had the basics down – Gan was Gan, and stretched even beyond the bounds of the macroverse, but the Turtle and the Spider, though larger then other beings, had several selves as well.

“Its sort of like the difference between the macroverse and the multiverse, then?” Bill asked, trying to understand. “There this universe, and others, and they’re surrounded by the macroverse – and this universe, with the solar system and all the galaxies and so on, that’s the one the It can’t come to anymore. But there are other universes, with their own galaxies, and maybe milky ways and solar systems and Earths in the macroverse…but even beyond that, there are _other_ macroverses, with their own turtle and spider and universes in them? But you’re the same no matter what.”

Gan was very pleased with Bill’s ability to conceive of that. Bill’s imagination was wonderful!

Bill blushed and looked away.

“So, if there are other universes in this macroverse – does that mean there are other versions of me?”

No. There was only this one Bill, and only one set of Losers as well – it had been necessary, when Gan was setting things up to take care of the Spider. Having twinners – having other selves – weakened people’s souls in a way Gan tried to get across to Bill but he couldn’t quite make out. It was necessary that there be only this set of The Losers Club, or they would not have been strong enough – and also, it had seemed kinder.

“Kinder?”

The Spider, if it had been given the chance to, would have sought out the twinners of the Losers and murdered them horribly, even when those versions had done nothing to It.

Oh, yeah. That…was absolutely something It would do.

There was a bright flash of amusement, and Gan sent across that It might not have murdered the other Bill’s, if they’d existed. It was odd, like the feeling of nudging a friend mischievously when talking about their love life.

“What?”

Never mind.

(And still that amusement.)

Bill put his confusion aside.

“So…what happens now?”

That was up to Bill.

“Up to me?”

Gan gave the impression of nodding. There were two options for Bill, one, the one Bill had already thought of, was Bill…passing on.

“Dying, you mean.”

Essentially. His world was gone, his family and friends – soon even his universe would fade, and then his macroverse. He could pass on, in peace.

“Would I see my friends again? Would I…would I see Georgie?”

Maybe. Gan couldn’t tell Bill what was on the other side, except that everything was just energy in the end, as the Turtle had told him all those years ago.

“I kind of figured that was my only option though – I went into this expecting to die, I just wanted to take It with me.”

Revenge?

“…No. Not this time anyway. Everyone was already dead so…what was the point? I just…wanted to make It stop. Seeing what It did to earth, knowing It had done it before – it wasn’t about making It pay for destroying my world, not at the end. It was about stopping It from destroying anyone else’s.”

There was a warm sense of approval and Bill blushed and buried his face in Gan’s lap.

“Anyway,” he cleared his throat, trying to change the subject. “What’s the other option?”

Transmigration.

“What?”

What came next came not as words, but as images, a sense of understanding. Behind his closed eyes, Bill saw many earths, fractured like glass in a mirror maze, reflecting off each other endlessly in spiralling, crystalline fractals. It made his head hurt to look at it, and he couldn’t quite understand what Gan was trying to tell him.

There was a pause, then the words came as the images faded. Like there were other macroverse’s, with other Turtle’s and Spider’s, Gan explained, there were other Bill’s. transmigration meant taking Bill – the Bill that was here now, that was Bill but was not Bill, was Bill in his simplest, most stripped bare elements, without his body – and putting that Bill into the body of another dimension’s Bill.

Bill felt a moment of sheer horror at the thought, at the idea of stealing someone else’s body, either killing them or kicking them out to wander endlessly in the dark or leaving them to watch, frozen and screaming, from behind their own eyes as someone else took over their life - only to be interrupted by a flash of horrified negation as Gan assured him wordlessly that that was not what Gan had meant, and that Gan would never do that to anyone, especially a version of Bill.

Bill let out a sigh of relief, then paused as he realised he hadn’t said anything about his revulsion out loud before Gan had soothed him.

“Wait, have you been reading my mind the whole time?”

There was a sense of embarrassment. Gan understood that humans like Bill were not used to the way beings like Gan communicated, and had been attempting to keep within Bill’s boundaries. Gan apologised.

“No, it’s alright. You can read my mind if you want to. I mean, I reckon I’m pretty much just mind right now, right? My body’s still on earth.” Probably dying or already dead, considering he no longer had It to make sure it kept breathing.

Gan was appreciative of Bill’s acceptance.

“You’re welcome.”

But, back to what they had been discussing – no, Gan would never do something that horrible, much less to one of Bill’s alternates.

“Wait, I thought you said I didn’t have any?”

In this Macroverse, yes. But like there were other Macroverse’s, other dimensions –

“There are other versions of me in those dimensions. I get it.”

Yes. An infinite number of them. A number so large, Bill would not be able to understand it. An amount so huge, Bill did not even have words for it. And among those innumerable versions of Bill, were some who were in the opposite state he was in – that is, their bodies were alive and intact and working fine, but their minds, their souls, the parts of them that made them _them_ – were gone.

“There are versions of me that are in comas and brain dead, basically?”

Yes. Did Bill remember the car accident when he was little?

“Not really, only what I was told about it – and I think maybe I remember a little of being in the hospital after, but not much.” He had only been about three after all.

That, Gan explained, had been a turning point, a focal point – there were other dimensions where Bill had not survived, or had survived but been deeply injured, unconscious in a coma as there their mind and soul fled their body.

“There’s a version of me that’s brain dead,” Bill said with dawning understanding. “A version of my body that’s without a soul – and I’m a soul without a body.”

Yes.

It was a slightly creepy thought, but Bill couldn’t help the rising excitement. “The world I’d be going to – is it like the mirror universe, where everyone is evil?” He idly tried imagining Richie with a beard. He was joking – mostly. If his friends were so different as to no longer be recognisable as his friends, it would be the same as going to a world where they were dead, and he didn’t want that.

Gan sent a sense of amused negation. The world Gan had picked for Bill was the world that was closest to his own – in fact, it was essentially identical except for the tiniest change possible. Gan had picked it deliberately for that.

“And, you said it was from the accident when I was three,” Bill said, sitting up. He was getting really excited now, and couldn’t help the smile that was spreading over his face. “Will I be 3, or…?”

Bill would be put in his counterparts’ body at the moment that version’s soul had departed – so yes, Bill would be a child again.

Bill sat there for a moment and just thought about it. He’d be able to meet his friends again, befriend them again – and this time he wouldn’t forget them. He wouldn’t let himself. Even if they all moved away as they had before, he’d keep in touch with them. And Georgie – he’d be able to see Georgie again! George had been born when Bill had been four, so he’d get to see him be born again, grow up – and get older then six. This time, Bill vowed, Georgie would live to see his seventh birthday.

Which brought about the one major shadow on the glowing wonderful future Bill was now seeing.

“What about It?”

Gan could not move against that version of the Spider, Gan sent apologetically. It would be up to Bill and his friends to defeat it again, as they had before.

“But it didn’t work – sure, we killed It that last time, after we’d already lost Stan, and it killed Eddie to do it – but It just came back.” And destroyed everything.

The feeling of sorrow and guilt grew. Gan could not provide anything more to Bill than Gan already had. If there was a way to stop It permanently, it would be up to Bill to find it.

That was alright. If he went in when he was three, and Georgie died when he was ten, that meant he had seven years to research a way to stop It and save the children of Derry and, eventually, the human species. (and the thought of that, that he had to, essentially, _save the world_ was so big and so scary that he promptly pushed it to the side. He would do what he had to do. He always did.)

Bill sat on the grass and took one last look at the glowing figure of Gan. Idly, he noticed that the figure was smaller – except no, it was Bill that was bigger, a teenager on the breadth of adulthood now, instead of the child he had been before. He smiled sadly at Gan.

“What happens now?”

Gan leaned forward and ran a non-existent hand through Bill’s hair again. Now – now, Bill flew.

Then Gan had a brightly glowing hand on Bill’s chest, except it was on Bill’s chest it was in it and Bill gasped, electrified, as it pushed, and Bill fell backwards through the grass like it was air.

The ground that was not ground slipped through him, and Bill was flying, and the world was made of stars.


	2. Chapter 2

The world was made of stars, and they spun around Bill in a dizzying dance as he fell – except he wasn’t falling, he was flying, and they weren’t stars, they were mirrors and as he passed by them, he got glimpses and fragments of strange places and alien worlds.

Well, some were alien. Some were very familiar. Derry featured prominently, and he saw other versions of himself, as a child, a teen, an adult, an old man. He saw various colleges and various houses and his friends and a glimpse of Audra and some other people he didn’t know. And that wasn’t all. There were other versions of Derry then just the ones he knew.

Some were brighter, more fully formed then others. He saw a group of children, familiar yet not, six boys and one girl – but the only boy with red hair also had glasses, and the girl’s hair was brown, and they were watching a boy with ash-blonde hair and an anguished look on his face as the blonde boy stared out at the forest of trees.

Then that world was whisked away as he flew, and he saw another, the same group of children, the same six boys and one girl, though this time the girl’s hair, though short, was the proper bright red, and the boy with glasses had dark hair and the boy with curls and neatly pressed shirt and shorts had light hair. They were standing before an old, crumbling house that looked like it came out of a horror movie or a theme park and staring at the boy in a red flannel shirt and auburn hair standing on the steps, talking to them with tears in his eyes.

He saw others, too, snippets and flashes, some briefly out of the corner of his eye, others large and in technicolour right in front of him, so real he thought he might crash into them, but they all flew past him eventually. He got a brief glimpse of the auburn haired boy reaching into a storm drain, felt the urgent shout he knew the boy would not hear rush through his throat – and then smiled and laughed as the boy, instead of getting his arm ripped off by the clown in the drain, stabbed it in the face with a large kitchen knife before that world was whisked away with the others.

He had a feeling he knew who those two boys, the blond and the auburn-haired ones, were, and idly marvelled at what he was seeing as the world stars whirled past him, faster and faster, brighter and brighter until all he could see was light –

White.

White.

Bill blinked, and the world cleared – but the white didn’t go away. Instead, it settled into a very familiar sight – a blank white ceiling above his head, lit with the sun’s rays.

Bill let out a soft breath and closed his eyes. By his side, his fingers twitched. He could feel the rough, tightly woven blanket they were lying on, and for a long while just lay there, feeling the fabric with the tips of his fingers as he breathed.

How strange, to realise he hadn’t been breathing before.

He felt weighed down almost, hemmed in in an intangible way that had nothing to do with how tightly the hospital blanket was tucked in around him.

Part of him thought that it had all been a dream, that he’d imagined It’s return, and the destroyed, derelict hospital, empty of all life. That the sight of the world empty and barren and dead had just been a terrible nightmare, and that what came after had just been a strange dream that would slip through his fingers now that he was awake, until all the details faded and all he could remember was fragments, and he’d curse not being able to write those fragments down, because they would have made a great story.

But when he turned his head on the soft white pillow, he saw red hair spread out across it, and he’d lost his hair even before the chemotherapy. And even without that, his hair had ever been this long.

Sitting up was a struggle with how tightly tucked in the blankets were, but he managed, and held a piece of fine red hair before his face with one tiny hand. It was baby fine, his hair, and the same bright coppery red he remembered from childhood, but sitting up it fell to his shoulders, longer then he’d ever had it. He held the strand of hair in front of his face and stared at it cross-eyed for a moment, before getting distracted by the sight of his now small hand.

He’d expected it but being told he would be three again was very different from actually _being_ three again.

He was so _small._ Stretching his fingers out, Bill turned his hand forward and backward, marvelling at the tiny fingers and tinier nails, before setting about trying to untuck the blankets keeping his small form prisoner on the hospital bed.

He wanted to get to a bathroom and look in the mirror, see what else had changed. He didn’t have the turban of bandages wrapped around his head and jaw that he vaguely remembered he should have had, and with his hair so long – had he – or well, this Bill – been in a coma or something? Gan had said that he would be put in the body of a brain-dead version, but if he’d been in a coma – how long had that been? What if he wasn’t three? What if he had lost some of his precious time to figure out how to stop It? What if Georgie had already been born and he had missed it?

To his horror, Bill found his face scrunching up and his nose getting clogged as his eyes grew wet. Here he was, a grown man, sniffling like a baby – he reached up and wiped at his eyes and tried to control himself, but couldn’t, as the tears came faster, and soon he was openly sobbing.

Sitting in the too big bed with too long hair and tears streaming down his face, Bill Denbrough cried and cried, and every time he tried to stop his inability to control himself just made him sob harder. Why couldn’t he stop crying?

He was sad and scared and alone, but he’d been all those things before and he hadn’t cried like this then – but then, he realised with a moment of horror that just made him cry even more, he hadn’t been three years old then.

His soul might be that of a grown man, but his body was that of a toddler. And his brain was ALSO that of a toddler. No wonder he didn’t have the emotional control he was used to – he was working out of a brain that hadn’t finished growing yet. It was like expecting to be able to reach the highest shelf or run a marathon with his new body. He just wasn’t capable of it yet.

Maybe it was the realisation of why he felt so out of control, or maybe it was the sound of footsteps outside the small room’s door, but Bill finally felt the tears slowing down as the door creaked open.

The man who bustled in was middle-aged, with fly away grey hair and horn-rimmed glasses and a white coat, and he was turned away from Bill, talking towards someone behind him. “Now Mrs. Denbrough, I’m sure it’s nothing –”

Mrs. Denbrough?

“Muh-muh-Mommy?” Bill found himself saying, heart beating faster.

The woman the doctor had been talking to entered the room, and Bill took in the dark circles under worn blue eyes, the exact same shade as his, that were locked on his form with a kind of disbelieving hope. It was Sharon Denbrough, his mother, and she was looking right at him, seeing, truly _seeing_ him, for the first time since Dave Gardener had brought home that small, bloodstained bundle that rainy October day.

“Bitty?” She asked, eyes searching his desperately.

Bitty? His mom had never called him that, only Billy or Bill.

Sharon took one trembling step towards the bed, and Bill found himself reaching out his arms to her. She let out a choked sob and dashed forward, clutching him to her, and Bill found his eyes welling up with tears again.

“You’re awake,” Sharon said, holding him close. She said it with the awe of someone who had hoped and prayed for so long with nothing changing that they had given up, only to be greeted with an unasked, unanticipated miracle. She said it like she’d dreamed of saying it, only to wake from those dreams crying because it wasn’t true. “Oh, sweetie you’re awake!”

Bill clutched her back just as eagerly and burst into tears again – but these were good tears, and as he sat there held in his mother’s arms, he felt as if an old wound, one so old that he’d grown used to its ache, though it had never fully healed, was finally starting to close. “M-mommy,” he said again, and nestled in close, breathing in that familiar sent of her perfume, a scent that even decades after she’d died, and even more decades since she’s looked at him and smiled or hugged him or sat with him and asked him about his day, always made him flashback to Derry, and his house, and feeling of her hugging him, or the weight of her on his bed as she told him a bedtime story. It was the scent of home, of safety and comfort and love.

It was the scent of Mom, and Bill buried himself in it as he buried his face in her dress and let the tears come.

The man in the white coat – a doctor, presumably, cleared his throat from beside the bed, only to be ignored as Sharon pulled back and took in Bill’s face, stroking his hair back with her fine pianist hands and moving her eyes over his features like she was worried she’d forgotten what he looked like. Bill nuzzled into her hands and cuddled in closer.

Any other time, he would have been ashamed of himself for how needy he was acting, but he was three years old, and nobody would judge him – and even if they did, he would have hugged her and cried anyway. The only thing that good have made this better was if his Dad and Georgie came in the door right now, so he could hug them all – then again, if that happened, he’d probably never stop crying.

“Well I – well.” The Doctor stumbled over his words, coughing nervously, and finally getting Sharon’s attention back. He winced at the icy blue stare she was giving him. “I suppose you were right, Mrs. Denbrough, and it wasn’t nothing after all – ah…”

Flinching away from Sharon’s glare, the doctor adjusted his glasses with shaking fingers and turned his attention to Bill instead, smiling awkwardly down at her.

“It’s very nice to see you awake, Miss Denbrough,” he said.

Miss?

“W-w-hat do yuh-yuh-you –” Bill got out before Sharon whirled on the doctor with fire in her eyes.

“Why is she stuttering?”

She?

The doctor started stuttering as well, nervously backing away from Bill’s mom’s glare as Bill watched in amusement.

That amusement was soon gone, as the doctor apparently decided that the best way to answer Sharon’s questions about what exactly was happening with her baby, and also the doctors questions about why a child who had been functionally brain-dead yesterday was now awake and aware and sitting up, was to do tests on said child.

A lot of tests.

As he allowed himself to be pocked and prodded, Bill realised that it was not just the doctor and his mom that were under the impression that he was a girl – everyone was.

As the barrage of tests continued, Bill felt his patience waning and growing thin – and finally he snapped.

“No!” he shouted, sitting down and refusing to get up so _yet another_ doctor could peer at his eyes and ears and throat and make humming noises and talk over his head. “No, No, NO!”

Sharon hurried over, and it was still a bit of a shock that she cared that much, that her eyes were bright and focused on the here and now, focused on Bill – but even her presence wasn’t enough to change his mind. He’d spent the last few years having tests and surgery’s and chemo and more tests, and then he’d woken up as a three-year-old that everyone insisted was a girl and was faced with more tests? No. And anyone who tried to make him was getting bitten.

With his stutter back however, he couldn’t say any of that, even if he would have been able to without being deemed crazy, so instead he simply buried his face in his mother’s skirts and shook his head repeatedly.

Every time he’d tried to speak lately he’d been stuttering like mad, and every time he’d stumbled over his words he’d felt the many years of being without his impediment fade away, until he was a child again and flushed as red as his hair as he desperately tried to get the words out as the other kids snickered and the teacher eventually shook their head and sighed and gestured for someone else to speak.

‘Mushmouth’ echoed through his head and he clutched his mom even tighter. “N-n-no m-m-more,” he murmured quietly, and felt her hand stroke over his head gently.

“I think Bitty needs a break,” said Sharon, and promptly ignored the doctor’s protests as she lifted Bill up in her arms and went back to the room he’d woken up in.

Once there, Bill reluctantly squirmed from her arms in an attempt to be set down. “Ta-tah-toilet, M-mommy.” Sharon laughed and put him down.

“Do you need any help?”

God no.

“Nu-nu-nu –” Sharon laughed again and nodded, so he smiled at her and went to the hospital room’s small bathroom.

It was tiny, with just a small shower and a plain white toilet and sink, with a small mirror above the sink, and Bill was far to small to see the mirror – but he wasn’t here for that. Or, for that matter, for the toilet.

His mother calling him Bitty instead of Billy he could accept as a difference in worlds. But the doctors calling him Miss and Elizabeth? His mother referring to him as she? Ever since he’d woken up here, people had been referring to him as a girl, and he had to checks, to see, to know – holding his breath, Bill pulled his white and grey striped cotton pyjama pants down to his knees and looked down to check.

He was missing his penis.

Bill let his breath out explosively and reached down with one hand to feel. It was the same as what he saw – instead of his penis and balls, small as they would have been at this age, there was just a smooth, sloped expanse that his hand cupped over. At the tips of his fingers he could feel the vulva – his vulva – _the_ vulva, but he snatched away his hand before he could feel anything else, feeling vaguely dirty and like he couldn’t breathe.

That was when he realised, he wasn’t, in fact, breathing, and took a deep breath as he pulled up his pants and slid to the floor.

The bathroom floor was cold and hard, and Bill – except he wasn’t Bill now, was he, he was _Bitty_ , was _Elizabeth_ , wasn’t even a _he_ – slip down until he was laying on it. She was laying on it. Whatever.

He was too old, and she was too young, to be having a gender identity crisis. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Bill put all thoughts of his gender aside for now. He could think on it later. His lips twisted as he curled up and clutched at his hair. If Gan had been there, in that small cold bathroom, Bill would have done something stupid, like try to hit him. As it was, he lay there and sent out a fervent stream of curses into the depths of his consciousness, hoping that somehow, someway, the glowing _jackass_ would hear it and know exactly how pissed he was at him. Just because Gan was a being beyond human ideas of gender didn’t mean Bill was!

Huffing, Bill sat up and opened his eyes and scrubbed his hands through his now long hair, before putting his hands on the floor to push himself to his feet – but he froze, staring at the small hands pressed against the cold floor for a long moment, before shaking his head and levering himself up.

He took one more look around the bathroom, at the too big toilet and the sink so high he couldn’t reach it and the mirror above the sink, and then he turned and left back to the hospital room, standing on his tiptoes to reach the doorknob as he did so.

When he walked back into the room, his father was there.

Bill stood there, one hand on the bathroom door, frozen.

Zach Denbrough was a large man, with hawklike eyes, broad shoulders and big hands. When he’d been younger, Bill had held those large hands as Zach carried him on his feet or clutched them with his own when walking outside. He perched on those broad shoulders and gazed at a world that seemed magical from up so high.

After Georgie’s death, those shoulders had bowed, those eyes had lost their gleam and gone dull and those hands hand never held Bill’s again.

But now, Zach’s eyes, the same deep brown of Georgie’s, were teary as they looked at Bill’s new small form, standing and awake, and he knelt down on the ground and reached out his arms to her.

Bill barrelled into those arms like a train, and they closed around him in a warm hug.

“Ellie,” whispered Zach. Bill snuggled closer.

“I th-th-thought I was B-Bitty?”

 “It’s a long-standing argument.” Zach said, chest rumbling against Bill’s cheek. Above his head, Bill felt Zach move to look at Sharon, who was watching with her own teary eyes.

“The doctors said there was some brain damage, both from the accident and the coma.” Sharon answered his unasked question quietly. Bill listened intensely. “It’s the reason for the stutter, but they also warned there might be some other effects, like amnesia, coordination problems…”

Zach clutched Bill tighter to him, before letting out a long breath of air like a snorting buffalo. “Maybe you can decide which you like better and finally solve it.” Zach suggested, and Bill thought for a moment. Ellie was too different. He was okay with Bitty for now, but as he grew older…

“C-can I be B-B-Beth?” It was the closest he could come to his old name.

Zach moved back a little and smiled down at Bi-Beth. “Sure sweetheart. You can be anything you want to be.” And then he was hugging Beth again, and Sharon had come over and joined in, and Beth let all the niggling little thoughts and worries fall to the side for a moment as he…she…enjoyed this.


End file.
